


miscellaneous short promptfics

by bookhobbit



Category: Discworld, Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: 6 Word Stories, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-05 20:32:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5389271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookhobbit/pseuds/bookhobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>essentially anything that's too short to get its own fic but which I still want to go here</p><p>Contains various pairings and characters; in some case I haven't tagged them because there's just too much going on, but frequently-reoccuring ships will eventually be tagged. There are also appearances from a few other fandoms, but since it tends to be along the lines of six or seven words, I feel bad tagging. Includes Ghost Hunt, POTC, FMA, and Star Trek TOS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. six to ten word stories

Nameless King/Segundus  
Around Segundus, he feels human again.

-

Childermass/Segundus  
The world will never shatter you, vows Childermass.

-

Childermass/Segundus  
His touch is inexpressibly gentle, questioning.

-

Rincewind/Twoflower  
If he’s happy it’ll end; he tries not to be.

-

Childermass/Norrell  
In London touch is stolen, secret.

-

platonic bashir-o'brien  
“You’re a pest.”  
“Love you too.”

-

Polly/Mal  
“Stayed for myself. But you helped.”

-

Tia Dalma/Davy Jones  
“You should have known me better.”

-

the entire TOS enterprise crew  
After seeing things no-one should, they need each other.

-

Lady Pole/Arabella  
Nights after dreams become days full of hope.

-

William/Sacharissa  
They fit love around the edges of stories.

-

Tasha Yar and Data  
She tells him 'forget', but neither can

-

Sam/Sybil  
Falling in love took them time.

-

Ponder/Rincewind/Twoflower  
This much happiness can’t bode well.

-

Ponder/Rincewind  
complaining together - better than complaining alone.

-

Rincewind/Twoflower  
Twoflower leaves. Rincewind tries not to care.

-

an Alphonse Elric/Riza Hawkeye unshakeable broship  
exasperation over hot-heads is thicker than water. 

-

John/Mai/Masako  
John’s confession was surprising; Masako’s, miraculous. 

-

Takigawa/Yasu  
“I told you I wasn’t joking.”

-

Ichabod/Abbie (seven again)  
It’s the apocalypse - no time for denial. 

-

Hawkeye/Black Widow  
Love is for children. Trust isn’t


	2. drabble dump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a bunch of prompts I did a couple of weeks ago. prompt and drabble, just like the six word fics

demi Vimes

It’s funny. Vimes has never thought of himself as a man much given to falling in love. He’d married Sybil with the understanding that he wasn’t in love. It was trust, and acceptance, and care. That was it: he cared for her.  
Somehow along the way that’s turned to ‘in love’, and it’s less strange than he’d expected. It feels like it has a foundation, like he had a partner before any of this turned up.   
He likes that. Maybe falling in love after you get married is the backwards way to do it, but he doesn’t think he minds.

 

-

 

demi Norrell

With Childermass, it feels slow. Norrell learns about him, learns to trust him, realizes he’s a person with thoughts and desires, and finds himself wishing to know more. It feels like sitting in a pot and not realizing you’re being boiled until suddenly it becomes all-powerful.  
Strange, though… With Strange it is fast. At first it’s not romance, but right away there’s a whooshing swooping dangerous feeling that leaves him breathless. Later he thinks about kissing Strange and banishes the notion. It’s only when Strange leaves that he realizes what it means.  
He wonders if both or neither are love.

 

-

 

anyone from the Magic Circle verse + mentoring a student

1\. “You will plant this, and it will grow.”  
The Nameless King drops a small seed into Clara’s hands.  
“Just like that?”  
“Just like that.”   
“What will grow?”  
“Wait and see. All magic, Miss Cunningham, springs from the trees and the rocks and the water and all of the things in England.” He spreads one of his hands across the earth, as if to encompass all of England. “And the best magic is magic that understands that.”  
“And understanding,” says Clara, “Starts with planting a seed.”  
The King smiles back. “That is exactly right. We’ll make a fairy-magician of you yet.”

2\. As afraid as Ruth is, she is glad she’s speaking to Master Norrell. He’s reassuringly small, has a soft voice, and occasionally in class, smiles at her.  
“Sir,” she says. “I want to seek an Apprenticeship in Theory. And I thought you might tell me where to begin reading.”  
Norrell looks at her for a very long moment. She thinks he’s going to refuse until he says, “You know my thoughts on such things, but if you must, I shall make you a list of books. They are full of errors and misconceptions, but they will be better than nothing…”

 

-

 

aro tactileness

Norrell reaches over to touch Childermass and his hand freezes.  
Childermass says softly, “It’s all right.”  
“I thought today was-?”  
“No kissing, but…” Childermass doesn’t know how to explain to Norrell that somehow, somewhat implausibly, he makes him feel secure. That even sometimes on days like these he needs - something, reassurance or shelter or rest, and that even when the quality of his feelings for Norrell change, the strength doesn’t.   
Childermass gives up, and tugs Norrell over until they are curled around each other like puppies in a basket. He sighs and finally untenses.  
Safety comes in myriad little ways.

 

-

 

holding hands/brushing fingers

Holding Arabella’s hand is a tiny little thrill every time Emma does it. It seems silly - it’s such a simple gesture - and yet it never seems to fade. Emma had never wanted to hold anyone’s hand so much, when she’d first fallen in love with Arabella. She thinks perhaps the sense of wonder has carried over now.  
Arabella will reach out and lace their fingers, rub a gentle thumb over Emma’s; Emma will clasp Arabella’s hand before leaning in to kiss her; in the hallway they will brush fingers lightly, discreetly.  
The warm thrill is always the same.

 

-

 

Norrell + music

Music has never been Norrell’s main area of interest. The major trouble is that it requires being in a room with other people which, invariably, is an unpleasant experience. They make noise. They sometimes even touch him. Norrell shudders to think of it.  
Halfway through the first year of Strange’s apprenticeship, though, Norrell learns he can play the piano, and develops a sudden interest in music. It’s an inexpressible delight to sit quietly as Strange plays a tune, even if his tastes do run to the popular.   
But truthfully, Norrell doesn’t know if that is the music or Strange himself.

 

-

 

Doctor Rjinswand

  
“A physicist!” says Zweiblumen, perking up. “That’s fascinating.”  
Rjinswand’s taken aback by this. Most people seem impressed, but not interested. He fiddles kicks his feet under the uncomfortable airport chair.  
“It’s all right. It’s not that interesting. Just studying when things go wrong.”  
“I’m sure it’s very exciting.”  
“Not really. What do you do?”  
“I’m an insurance salesman! You might say risks are my business.”  
Rjinswand gets the impression that he uses that line at every opportunity. But it’s not so bad, so…okay.  
“This is your first trip to these parts, then?”  
“Yes, it is.”  
“Well… I’ll show you around.

 

-

 

post york minster 

It feels late when Childermass arrives back from York, though the magic had been early; perhaps it’s the waiting.   
“How did it go?” Norrell asks anxiously when Childermass enters.  
Childermass watches him thoughtfully for a few seconds - unreadable as he so often is. Without saying a word, he closes the distance between them. Then he takes Norrell into his arms and kisses him.  
Norrell says “mmph” in shock and, if he’s honest, delight.  
When they seperate - Norrell rather dazed - Childermass says, his eyes dark and heavy on Norrell’s face, “It was extraordinary.”  
Norrell smiles the tiniest smile.

 

-

 

jealous childermass

It seems like such a small thing: he sees Norrell laugh at one of Strange’s remarks.  
That’s fine. It’s fine. Norrell should be happy; Childermass doesn’t begrudge him that.  
It’s just that Childermass used to do that, used to button Norrell’s cloak, used to reach to high shelves where he could not. Used to talk about magic with him.  
And now there’s Strange - energetic and moderately pretty and rich and respectable - and Childermass can feel the horrible ache in his chest at the thought of being replaced, but he won’t say anything.   
He won’t.  
Norrell should be happy.

 

-

 

your favorite character + the first word you see 

These days, Rincewind tends to fall asleep clutching the bronze octagon around his neck. There’s something about it that makes him feel a bit safer, a bit more whole.   
Years later he’ll associate the same feeling with the university, for the same reasons, although he’ll never be able to fully articulate it.   
It’s a sort of desperate faith that if he holds onto some piece of his dream then maybe some day it’ll come true. Maybe if he clutches at this token they gave him, if he sleeps in the place that belongs to wizards, he in turn will belong.

 

-

 

the rest of the wizards reacting to ponderwind

Ridcully raises his eyebrows. “So it’s like that, is it?”  
“Um,” says Rincewind.  
“Er,” says Ponder.  
“Isn’t there anything in the university statuates against it?” sniffs the Dean.  
“Surely not,” says the Senior Wrangler, looking vaguely shifty.  
“Certainly not,” says the Lecturer in Recent Runes, looking even shiftier.  
“No,” says Ridcully, “There’s nothing. What goes on between two wizards is their business.” He bristles his eyebrows meaningfully at Ponder and Rincewind. “I’d prefer not to hear the details, of course. But if anyone gives you trouble you come to me.”  
“Ook,” the Librarian adds.  
“Yes, yes, good man. Him too.”

 

-

 

pre-canon Mrs Wintertowne&Emma

Something in her heart swells when she looks at her daughter; she doesn’t know if it’s pride, or love, or concern, or all three. Emma has been ill for a long time, and she is tired, Mrs Wintertowne can see it.   
“I don’t want more doctors,” Emma says. “I’m sick of doctors.”  
“I know, my love,” says Mrs Wintertowne, stroking her hair.   
“They’ll poke at things and it will do no good.”  
“Maybe this time. We could try.”   
“You know as well as I do that it won’t.”  
Mrs Winertown pulls Emma close and kisses the top of her head.

 

-

 

granny and nanny's first meeting

The other girl is tiny and round and freckled, and the automatic temptation is to dismiss her as fluffy and silly.  
Esme’s not so stupid. She can see the razor-blade mind at work underneath the clouds of gorgeous curls, and sense the power in the girl’s already work-roughed hands. And that’s another cue, too; Esme can tell she’s used to scraping and fighting and getting her way. Those are witch’s hands.  
“I’m Esme,” she says, and the girl nods.   
“Gytha,” she says, with a smile that’s half charm and half challenge.   
And the long, long future unrolls in before them.

 

-

 

Lucas/Matthew

“I can’t,” says Lucas, putting a hand over his eyes.  
“You can,” says Davey patiently. “Go on. Tell him.”  
“Have you seen him, Davey? He’s so tall. And handsome. I saw him with his shirt off the other day - ”  
“You told me, Lucas.” There’s a hint of heavy patience in Davey’s tone, not quite exasperation but edging there. “I wish you’d just talk to him. Matthew’s a nice fellow. And of your type, I’m pretty sure. Go. He thinks you hate him.”  
Lucas sighs, and squares his shoulders, and stands.  
Davey pats him on the back. “Good man.”

 

-

 

little Rincewind's first day at university

The Great Hall feels impossibly large, and he impossibly small. But this is magic: real, live magic in action. It should be impressive, he thinks.  
There’s a crowd of other students, coming in with families - he himself has none - and with trunks - his is small and contains all of the little he owns - so he navigates carefully, threading his way through the clutches of people scattered across the hall.  
He’s going to be a wizard. An actual, proper wizard.  
He wishes his grandfather could have lived to see this, but the world isn’t quite that generous.

 

-

 

Childermass/Norrell grooming

“Your hair needs washing.”  
“Hands are still too cut up,” says Childermass.   
Norrell stares at him for a long moment. Childermass is expecting a lecture but in fact Norrell goes and fetches the basin, jug, and soap.  
“Lay down against it,” he says, setting it on the nightstand. Childermass, bemused, complies; Norrell washes his hair.  
“Why bother, sir?”  
“I don’t like the way it feels when it’s dirty.”  
Childermass can’t tell if that’s the real reason or if it’s another one of Norrell’s silent gestures of affection, the ones he does and then denies.   
He feels better this way, anyroad.


	3. drabble dump take 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just looking at the ones Moll sent me like 'I can't even explain half of these to people who aren't her'.
> 
> I swear Joan/Brightwind makes perfect sense in the context of the tumblr RP.

Granny Weatherwax reflecting on the witches she's mentored/seen grow up

Strictly speaking, Granny’s never had but one apprentice, and that’s Esk. Not quite a proper witch, her - she balances on the line between witch and wizard, never tipping quite into either. But then, isn’t witchcraft about edges at its heart?  
There have been others, though. Girls who have come to her, girls she has shown the path or else given a swift kick. Agnes. Magrat. Tiffany. Diamanda, even, in a way, silly girl she’d been. They’re all part of her now, and she’s part of each of them.  
If that’s the only legacy she leaves, she thinks, it could be worse.

 

-

 

Childermass or Strange talking Norrell through a sensory meltdown

Everything is too much. His head is swimming, aching, and he wants to cover his ears and block out the world. Too many voices, too many smells. He wants to move his hands, relieve some of the pressure, but there are people -   
Then, like a cool bracing wind, Strange’s voice: “Are you quite well, sir?”  
Norrell lifts his head. It takes him a moment to focus, then find his voice. He can’t look Strange in the eye.  
“I am a little ill.”  
“Come, then. Let us get you some fresh air.”  
After that, all that matters is quietness, relief, and the balm of Strange’s presence.

 

-

 

jsmn, norrell & childermass, laudanum

Childermass talks in his sleep. Norrell’s been told that’s not unusual with patients given laudanum. All the same, it’s disconcerting to sit by his bed and hear him so much more open and vulnerable than he’d be if he was awake.  
Many dreams seem to be incidents from Childermass’s childhood, which Norrell knows was largely not pleasant. Some are bits and pieces that would be almost funny if they weren’t mixed with moans of pain.  
Once, just once, Childermass calls Norrell’s name, voice full of alarm.  
Norrell rests a hand Childermass’s.  
“I’m here,” he says. “It’s all right. I’m here.”

 

-

 

A young teen-aged Adora Belle asking her parents why they gave her the name they did

“Why,” Adora demands one evening at the kitchen table, “Do you hate me?”  
“We don’t?” says Mr Dearheart.  
“Then why did you name me Adora Belle? What other reason could you have? You hate me and want my life to be hard.” Adora sighs, and takes a bite of her pork chop.  
Mrs Dearheart looks guilty. “It was technically my idea,” she says, “But it’s not like that. You know grandma was an Adora- ”  
“And you know your Aunt Belle…”  
“We just didn’t think.”  
Adora looks at them and frowns deeply. “You should have,” she says, and continues eating.

 

-

 

William's blog+photographer AU

William wakes up, and gazes blearily down at his phone. He’s got comissions to do, including several heavy science articles, but he wants to see if he can find some new leads about the recent mob busts.  
He spends half his day sweet-talking police officers and failing entirely to get new information, but he’s pretty sure he at least has enough to synthesize the story for his followers. He puts it together quickly, and then moves reluctantly on to his commissions.  
He looks at the first request, sees the words “piezoelectric effect” and, in despair, goes back to his blog.

 

-

 

"All magicians lie, that one more than most" (Childerrell)

Childermass has not given up on finding out. He waits, though, until one night when he is helping Norrell to bed. Usually the half-hour at the end of the day is reliably theirs.   
Childermass is sitting on the bed, holding one of Norrell’s hands in both of his. Their faces are close; Childermass thinks Norrell might risk a kiss. So, perhaps, this is the best moment.  
“What went wrong with Lady Pole?” asks Childermass, quietly.  
Norrell flinches, turns away and pulls the covers up over himself.  
“Nothing,” he says.  
 _All magicians lie_ , Childermass remembers, _and that one more than most._

 

_-_

 

joan/brightwind

Brightwind’s first impression is _cocky_ : there’s a spark in the woman’s dark eyes that looks like trouble, like someone who won’t be bent.  
“You’ve certainly got the shiny bit of fairy life down,” she tells him, leaning against the wall and gazing at him steadily.  
“And you certainly have the grubby bit of Christian life down.”  
She smirks. “And whose fault is that? Your king’s the one who keeps me cleaning fireplaces.”  
“And what a waste that is, even if you are far too small to be really attractive.”  
“Don’t that just make me weep,” drawls Joan.   
And Brightwind smirks.

-

literal husbands au childermass/norrell 

John wakes up, wanders into the kitchen. There’s coffee made in the pot, and he smiles at the sight of it; Gilbert pretends it’s not intentional, but John knows he never drinks it, so there’s no other reason for him to make it.  
He pours a cup and runs his fingers through his hair, still blinking sleepily. Gilbert’s probably in his office at this time of day. John makes his way across the house, sipping his coffee.   
When he pushes the door open, Gilbert looks up, and his face softens just slightly.  
“Good morning,” he says.  
“Good morning,” says John.

-

detective au childermass/norrell

“Tell me if you did it,” says Norrell outside the door. “You have to tell me. I can help you if you did.”  
“I didn’t. I swear.” Childermass takes another ragged breath, one after the other, though each of them is a struggle. “Please believe me.”  
There’s a long silence from the other side of the door, and then Norrell sighs. “I do. "You’ve never lied to me so far.”  
“And I still haven’t.”  
“Then I’ll do what I can. In the morning I’ll send for help.”  
“Thank you, sir,” says Childermass, and suddenly he feels light enough to breathe.

-

stephen/vinculus

Stephen never thought one night would turn into a week in an inn together, waiting for further orders and mourning Firenze. Oddly enough, it helps to have someone there, even someone as disquieting as Vinculus. There’s something about the man, something strangely knowing, that sometimes startles Stephen and sometimes comforts him. The Gentleman doesn’t bother him. Stephen wonders if, somehow, Vinculus’s presence is keeping him away.   
Technically, Stephen supposes, this is an affair. Vinculus is married five times over, after all. But Stephen doesn’t feel like he’s an afterthought. Vinculus makes him feel…central. Part of something. Like he belongs somewhere.

-

any of the jsmn minor ladies

Maria wants, primarily, excitement. Glittering nights so full of glamor and thrills that she forgets that they’re not broad daylight. Days packed with whirlwinds of activity and usefulness. It’s not that she can’t accept the little lulls that life imposes; it’s just that she wants more than mudanity and quiet meekness. She wants to truly _live_.  
Henry seemed to offer the closest thing for a while, but that’s been as much of a wash as anything else. And now she’s stuck here and everything seems futile.  
Revenge is the only thing she has to occupy her, so she lets it.


End file.
